[ She can't help it. She has to give him a bewildered stare that screams "are you fucking serious?" No need to try discerning that expression, at least. Her eyes are being plenty expressive.

...Though, seriously. Real props to him for the mask. It's not one of those shitty spray-painted ones. Way too fucking real almost, based on what bits and pieces she knows.

Night shakes her head. Gotta focus. ]

No. Fighting won't fix that. But it'll feel really fucking good.

[ Because no matter who was under that mask, they represented everything she hated. Everything she'd been fighting against all her life and since one fateful Christmas morning where so much changed irreparably.

Another visual assessment, and she formulates what she wants to do further. As fucking good as it'd feel to give into that rage, she is heavily blessed with restraint. Mostly. She'll see how he guides her boots. ]

Maybe you wanna enlighten me, though, since I'm so "confused." [ Subtly--though surely he'll notice it--her body shifts to prepare to attack. ] Take the mask off.

[ Even if she she's got no idea where she is, he's a suspect, clear as day. No potential kinship here on her end, sorry. ]